


Skin and Bones

by jewboykahl



Category: South Park
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anorexia, Bulimia, Eating Disorders, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, One Shot, Recovery, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:27:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27932260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jewboykahl/pseuds/jewboykahl
Summary: Clyde doesn't know how to cope with being the new "fat kid" in the class. After years of struggling in silence, he learns that his best friend, Craig, would support him through anything, and may just like him back.
Relationships: Clyde Donovan/Craig Tucker
Comments: 18
Kudos: 29





	Skin and Bones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thelotusflower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelotusflower/gifts).



> i would just like to reiterate that this could be extremely, extremely triggering if you have suffered or know someone who has suffered rom an ED. please review with caution as clyde does have an eating disorder in this fic
> 
> also cryde is cute, sue me!  
> i wrote this a couple years ago n just added to it recently! for my absolute queen and guilty fellow lowkey cryde shipper <3 love u big lotus

Clyde stood before his 5ft by 2ft mirror in search of answers. His brand-new title was given him that day in Eric Cartman’s absence— _Fatass._ The missing bully who was now in jail was indisputably the fattest kid in their school. His morbid obesity was not only the unofficial sledding team’s secret weapon to beat the girl’s team in a race, but the main focal point of ridicule. Cartman’s fellow teammates, Stan, Kyle, and Kenny, made an executive decision that Clyde would be the replacement—and that he was the second chubbiest.

He had never given his body-type much thought. Now that he was scrutinizing his reflection, however, he can see that his arms aren’t quite as gangly as Craig’s. His thighs aren’t as far apart as Token’s. His cheekbones aren’t as prominent as Kyle’s. And most horrifically, his stomach was not nearly as flat as Stan’s.

He shook his head from side to side. He was not _fat_. He was an average and healthy sized ten year-old boy. There was no need for him to lose weight or be concerned about his minor love handles. He breathed out a sigh of relief—glad that he didn’t have to worry about being overweight like Cartman did.

Clyde managed to keep this level-headed confidence until the next round of shots were fired in judgement of his body. Girls and boys alike sneered at the “fatboy”. Jimmy joked that he should lay off the tacos. Stan and Kyle urged him to be at practice because they needed their husky secret weapon. He couldn’t tell underneath the orange parka, but Kenny gave him a guilty frown, aware that the comments genuinely got to him.

The only other person who understood that Clyde took the teasing personally was his best friend, Craig. Despite the fact that Craig cares about virtually nothing but space and his beloved pet guinea pig he could tell by the simple slouch in Clyde’s shoulders that he was not okay with this. He assured his friend that he was by no means fat, and if he were there would just be “more to love”. This got Clyde through another night, especially considering the compliments came from the boy he possessed a doe-eyed crush on (which is something Clyde had trouble admitting even to himself). But, the spotlight on him in such a negative light for several more days to come caused irreversible damage to his self-esteem.

In fact, the struggle only escalated. At first he decided to attempt to shed from baby fat in a healthy way. He cut out Cheesy Poofs and Snacky-Cakes—his ten year-old idea of a diet. When he went a whole month in doing this with no results, he gradually subtracted even more from his regular consumption: pizza, soda, candy, chips, ice cream, and even tacos. Still, nothing seemed to make him skinner.

Then tragedy struck. Just when Clyde was nearing the ripe age of eleven, his mother passed away. The grief and strife he felt overtook all of his will to take care of himself. If his father had not forced him to do so, he wouldn’t have showered, he didn’t comb his hair, he didn’t do his homework, and he didn’t eat.

Even then, stepping on the scale a few times a day had become a routine for the young boy. As the das without his mother and food went on, he discovered that his weight soon began to decrease as well. In just a couple weeks he went from 93lbs to 86lbs. Learning that there was a cure for his disgusting body-shape was his sole sense of comfort.

Ceasing all food ingestion was his choice course of action to cope with his weight and the loss of his mother. It was a difficult transition in the beginning. His stomach moaned at inconvenient times and raised a lot of eyebrows. But, he learned little tricks to defuse the suspicion, such as firmly pressing his fist into his belly to muffle the growling, requesting to eat in his room and then flushing the food down the toilet at dinner time, and eating minimal lunch to sustain his basic survival and ensure that his friends weren’t questioning anything. 

At the age of twelve and a half, he discovered the term _anorexia nervosa_. Someone had mentioned it on a Facebook post and his interested was greatly piqued. More research than he had ever done brought him to the discovery that he was not the only one choosing this method of weight-loss. Lots of girls and boys alike did this to themselves as a last resort. The knowledge that he was not alone gave him somewhat comfort. But, that was before he saw the pictures.

Countless, horrendous images of sunken in stomachs and barely concealed ribcages made his empty stomach queasy. All the stick-thin thins, the boney arms, the teary eyes, the sickly faces made him reconsider everything.

Horrified, Clyde slammed his laptop computer shut and rushed to the mirror in his bedroom. He pulled up his red sweat-shirt to examine himself. He couldn’t understand; all he saw was the same fat tub of lard he saw every day. There was nothing thin about his perception of himself. He certainly didn’t resemble the nearly _unhuman_ boys and girls from the pictures, despite the fact that he was only 74lbs then.

The fear of becoming one of those depictions remained fresh in his mind. That night, he ate a full dinner with his family and found it both incredibly satisfying and considerably difficult. His stomach ached uncomfortably at the foreign amount of sustenance it received and soon began to ache. This frustrated Clyde; what did his body _want_ from him?

The dread of consuming such a fattening amount of mashed potatoes and chicken breasts began to weigh on him. What if he had gained it all back? That one slip up threw away all that he worked so hard for a few years now to accomplish. This in mind, he rushed to his trusty measuring tool and stepped on it. He bit his lip nervously and watched the scale calculate his weight. _76.3lbs_.

Clyde was mortified. He had gained two pounds. Panic rose within him and tears stung his eyes. How could he be so stupid? Of course this would happen if he ate awful food. Disgusting, diabolical chicken and mashed potatoes. He wished to God that he could turn back time and tell himself not to eat. He wished all the ghastly food would be expelled from his body somehow.

Then it hit him. It _could_ be. All he had to do was vomit and it would all be gone. What a _clever_ idea.

The brunette approached the toilet with slight tentativeness. How would he go about emptying his stomach of the toxic food? He picked through the information in his mind and remembered the wise-tale that touching your uvula caused an immediate gag reflex. Clyde bent over the porcelain bowl and put this theory to the test.

Shaky fingers pushed against the back of his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut and repeated this action a few times. Eventually, bile rose up inside him and traveled to his throat. He gripped the toilet seat and retched until the remains of his dinner spilled into the water and left a burning in his neck. He threw up his tummy’s contents until he could no more.

After taking a moment to compose himself, Clyde rushed to the scale to test his weight. _75.6lbs_. He sighed in relief. He wasn’t exactly back to where he should have been, but he was more on track. And he had learned his lesson; eating that much is completely unproductive. He didn’t _deserve_ it. He had to earn the right of eating by being _skinny_.

Craig was beginning to worry. As he watched everyone around them grow, including himself, everyone gained weight. Tweek had a tummy, Token had more muscular gain, Cartman inflated even more, and his own body accumulated some extra fluff on his thighs and arms due to the constant consumption of junk food. Granted, his fast metabolism and tall potential evened him out. But, this was not the case for Clyde.

His adorable best friend and holder of his heart seemed to have the Benjamin Button effect; he was actually getting thinner. Almost sickly so. Craig had no idea how this could be, but for someone who pays so much attention to Clyde he was bound to notice the change. He shot down any offer of snacks, soda, and food in general and brought only crackers and apple juice for his lunch on a daily basis.

In addition to this, he was always run-down. He played went outside and played with all the neighborhood kids less and less and when he did, he was slow and quit far sooner. His usually peppy attitude and excitableness was virtually gone. It left nothing but tired smiles and forced laughs. As he watched, it seemed to Craig that simply _walking_ was a chore for his dear friend.

When the boys were a bit older than thirteen, he discovered why this was.

He had been wary of Clyde’s behavioral shifts for some time then but said nothing. He wasn’t one fond of deep discussions or the revealing of feelings. If need be, he would actively listen to Clyde or Tweek or Token’s problems, but he never spoke his own mind—which was how he was able to keep his attraction towards Clyde under wraps since it began ages ago.

But, when he heard his friend dry heaving and gagging from the bathroom, he knew he had to step in. He had been aware of bulimia and anorexia for a while now and feared that this was a case of the terrible thing. It made his heart heavy to even consider someone he cared about as deeply as Clyde would be doing that to himself. He was too pure and ignorant and sweet. Too _Clyde_.

“Clyde?” Craig’s voice carried through the bathroom door along with the tapping of his knuckle. He pressed his ear to the door to detect Clyde’s flustered cursing and rush to flush the evidence. He took a step back when the knob twisted and the brunette pulled the door ajar.

Clyde cheeks were beat red and a bead of sweat streaked from his forehead to his chin. His skin was disturbingly pallor and his smile was weak and insincere. “Yeah?”

“What the hell were you doing in here?” There was an edge to the boy with the blue hat’s tone. He was angry at this _stupid asshole_.

Clyde shrugged nonchalantly, although anxiety was making him feel even sicker. He should have been more intelligent about when and where he corrected his eating. “N-Nothing, dude. Since when are you interesting in me taking a shit?”

Craig’s expression remained unmoved. “You weren’t taking a shit.”

“Yeah, I was? That’s why I went to the _bathroom_ —“

“You were throwing up, Clyde. I heard you. I’m not fucking stupid.”

Clyde was trembling now. Tears were welling in his big, brown eyes. Craig’s stance told him he wouldn’t let this go until he got the answers he was looking for. His heart viciously attacked the inside of his chest as blood pounded in his skull while Craig continued, “I know what you’re doing and it’s so fucking shitty of you. How long have you been starving yourself, Clyde? Making yourself throw up? Do you realize how unhealthy that is? Do you realize how fucking skinny you are?”

The brunette couldn’t help it; the words forced the water works to stream down his cheeks. Craig’s face maintained its severity even when he saw Clyde’s revert to full cry-baby mode. “Please just leave this alone, I’m fine! I’m n-not even skinny—“

“Are you serious? Come here,” Craig huffed and gripped his arm. He led him to the mirror as soft sobs shook him. “Look at yourself, Clyde. You’re the skinniest kid in our entire class.”

Craig had to be delusional. All Clyde saw was a fat, ugly lump of shit. He shook his head and cried, “Stop!”

“I’m serious, dude! I can see your fucking ribs! Look!” Craig continued to press. He tugged the body’s graphic t-shirt up to reveal the concerningly flat stomach he possessed and his very visible ribcage. He did not quite match the brutality of the pictures that shocked him into eating a year prior, but he was certainly on his way. “How much do you weigh?”

“Please stop!” Clyde begged. He was too tired to fight Craig’s touching and guiding, so he cupped his hands over his eyes. A fresh fountain of saltwater drained relentlessly from his tear ducts as he screamed, “I don’t want to see myself! I hate myself!”

Craig’s mouth hung open in surprise. His rage was replaced with a combination of guilt and sympathy when he considered Clyde’s feelings and reactions. Sobs were wracking his body and his fingernails were digging into the skin in his cheeks. Craig’s features softened considerably and he surged forward to remove Clyde’s claws from his face. “Clyde—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please stop crying.”

The brunette could do no such thing. He hugged his stomach and pulled at his own shirt. He had never felt worse. Not only was he grossly obese, now he had made Craig so angry at him. He had let himself be found out and he was sure it would all be over then. His friends and family would make him eat and he would become even more repulsive. 

Craig cupped his cheeks and swiped away the moisture with his thumbs. His heart couldn’t help but thump at the closeness of their faces. He had shared a personal bubble with this boy countless times, and while he always received those butterflies, this sentiment was far more intense. There was a sense of panic to the passion. He needed to make Clyde calm down and love himself as much as he loved him. “Please… You’re too perfect to cry. You’re too perfect for this.”

Clyde trained his puffy, red gaze on the boy before him that held his face gently in his warm palms. He experienced his own chest-flutters when he made direct eye-contact with Craig’s warm hazels. The overhead lamp shining directly down on them drawled the apple green out of them. It relaxed Clyde to study them, but the weight of the world remained on his shoulders. “I’m not perfect… I’m a fatass.”

Craig shook his head, “Even if you were a fatass, you’d still be perfect to me.”

A small smile twitched the brunette’s lips. He had been dying to hear such a thing from Craig’s mouth for God knew how long. Did this mean Craig returned the feelings? He shut his eyes and let the last tear fall, and Craig wipe it away. His breathing was still unsteady and the beginning to a headache appeared in the crown of his head. “You really think that?”

Craig grinned sweetly. “I _know_ that, Clyde. I’d tell you all about it if you’d believe me.”

Clyde giggled softly, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “Why are you being all sweet? You’re supposed to be an uncaring asshole.”

“I am an uncaring asshole,” Craig assured. Then, unsurely, he admitted what he had been holding back for so long. Perhaps thirteen is far too young to say such a thing, but he did it anyways, “But, I love you.”

Clyde’s stomach clenched in the best way possible after letting the words sink in. If only for a moment, all the doubts and fears and insecurities that clogged his mind around the clock rolled off of him. All the he had time to think about in the moment was that Craig—this gorgeous, monotone space dork with braces and messy back hair and a hat that he’d worn since he was eight—loved him and saw something good in him. Was this a fantasy?

“I love you.” Clyde promised, heart racing. It felt so good to say it. “I love you so much.” He repeated breathlessly and threw his arms around Craig’s neck. He sighed in relief when he felt Craig’s arms tenderly encase his tiny waist. Tears of joy began in the corners of his eyes.

Craig held the broken boy in his arms for a few silent minutes. He only rubbed his back softly and let Clyde cry quietly into his neck. Eventually he drew back and held the back of Clyde’s head, feeding his fingers through the brown waves. “Can you please talk to me about what’s going on with you?”

The moment of happiness was overtaken yet again by Clyde’s condition. He bit a lip and found a spot on the carpet to stare at. “Craig, I… I can’t talk about it… I can’t.”

Craig frowned, unsure of what steps to take to help him open up. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Yeah you are,” Clyde countered in remembrance of Craig’s initial reaction to catching him in the act.

Craig shook his head and continued to trace through Clyde’s hair. He remembered once that he mentioned it soothed him to do so. “I’m just hurt. Like I just told you, I love you. I hate to see you doing this to yourself.”

Clyde sighed, very uncomfortable with the topic. He was beginning to fall into a fit of terror again. The sobs were rising to the surface so he buried his face in Craig’s neck again. It fit there perfectly since Craig already got his first growth spurt and Clyde had not. He meant to offer a reason why he couldn’t talk about it, but he clung to the taller boy like a kola instead. He inhaled Craig’s scent and wished to think and talk about anything but his problem.

Craig decided to let it go for the night. The two had a lot of new feelings to process. Instead of talking, they spent the night nuzzled into one another’s bodies and whispering sweet nothings to one another. Even with the extensive fanaticizing about Craig being poetically telling him all these wonderful things that Clyde had over the years, he never expected for the real Craig to be as romantic as he was. He was called beautiful and treated so delicately and kindly.

It was so nice to forget about being so inadequate when he was with Craig. He didn’t have to ponder his weight, width, or attractiveness when he was in his judgement-free arms. He wished he could stay there forever.

A few weeks passed, and all that changed was that Clyde and Craig began an official relationship. Nobody at school seemed to mind or be shocked by this new development, which relieved Craig immensely. He was not fond of spotlight and already had to deal his father not accepting or attempting to understand his sexuality. That didn’t discourage him from being with Clyde—he loved his boyfriend.

A remaining problem was Clyde detrimental habits. He was constantly contemplating whether or not he should go to the school consoler or Clyde’s father or _what._ He was too naïve to know what was truly the best option for his suffering partner and it caused him great confusion and vexation. Yet, he was firmly aware that what Clyde was doing to himself was the furthest thing from okay.

Clyde began to reconsider his methods as well. Instead of Googling ways to hide his food-less lifestyle, he began to watch videos of survivors and read more blogs about those who have gotten through what he was balls deep in. They were so much _happier_ and appreciated everything so much _more_ , it seemed. It was what he wanted; to be _happy._ Especially now that he had Craig pulling genuine laughs and smiles from him. His desire to be okay and content with him flourished.

“Craig, can I talk to you?” Clyde asked timidly before they entered the cafeteria with the rest of their friends.

Craig’s dark eyebrows knitted together. “Yeah, of course. You good?”

Clyde nodded absentmindedly. He darted his eyes along the corridor to make sure that no teachers would impede their journey to the bathroom. They traveled there together, hand in hand. Once protected by the privacy of the small room with rusted urinals and a few stalls, Clyde began nervously, “Okay, I need your help, but I really don’t want you to get mad at me.”

“Okay.” Craig drawled with a suspicious expression.

Clyde let out a long breath. He took his time in actually revealing what was on his mind. He never expected that talking about something would be so hard. “I…I want to stop…”

“Stop…?” Craig questioned.

Clyde huffed in frustration, cheeks becoming rosy. Craig took his hand again and ran his thumb over his knuckles comfortingly. He tried again, soothed slightly. “I want help with… Being anorexic.” It was the first time he had called himself that. He read somewhere it made it easier to start the recovery process if he admitted that it was an issue. “I don’t want to be tired anymore.”

Craig’s breath hitched. He hadn’t expected Craig to call himself out on this by any means. He was expecting the resolution to this problem to be entirely his responsibility. Pride and relief washed over him. He smiled, “That’s good, baby.”

The brunette grinned shyly, happy to earn the approval of his boyfriend. “I just have no idea what to do…”

“It’s okay,” Craig assured him. He leaned over and planted a sweet kiss on his nose. “You and I will figure it out. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you.” Clyde said. “Thank you for not giving up on me… I know what I’m doing is really bad.”

“It’s okay. We’re going to get you help and you’ll be okay. But, it’s going to be really hard for you. I’ve done a lot of research on this stuff since…” he trailed off.

Clyde understood. “I know. I’m serious about this… I want me and you to last.”

Craig frowned. “Don’t do this for me, Clyde. Do it for you.”

“I am! I am, that’s what I meant. You make me so happy, but I know I can’t ever be fully happy like this. I think I’m kind of just spewing stuff that I read when I did research on this but I really want to stop. Besides, I miss Cheesy Poofs.” Clyde assured his boyfriend.

Craig chuckled softly, “Well, then, I promise that you will be able to eat Cheesy Poofs again.”

And he was. It took many, many panic attacks and crying fits and years of continued therapy, but at the age of seventeen Clyde was fully content with his body and life itself. Back when he was almost fourteen, he and his boyfriend—who are still very much together—went to their school consoler, Mr. Mackey about Clyde anorexic tendencies. He was utterly clueless on the issue, but thankfully their teacher, Mr. Garrison was not.

Mr. Donavan was informed of his son’s condition the same day. Clyde was unbearably nervous about this at first, but it resulted in a heart-to-heart about all the bottle up emotions they never shared with one another. He felt closer to his father and more hopeful than ever after that.

The worst part of Clyde’s recovery was that he was forced to stay in a mental hospital for a week. His doctor concluded that he required serious and immediate attention when they discovered that he was thirty pounds underweight. They mandated his eating habits, provided individualized and group therapy, and a regiment to help him get back on track. While there, he was diagnosed with anxiety disorder and administered the proper medication to aid him. His lovely, worried boyfriend answered the two calls he was allowed a day immediately and visited him once. It was so relieving to know that Craig’s opinion of him remained positive.

One of the best moments in his road to recovery was his first bowl of Cheesy Poofs in years. Nothing had ever tasted so fucking _good_.

Clyde studied himself in the same mirror that lied to him for years. He was clad in a sleek, black tuxedo with a blue tie. He neatly styled his disconnected undercut into an attractive swoop and shaved his face smooth. It was the big night for his senior friends and him—prom.

A knock on his bedroom door made him turn his head. “Come in!”

The door opened to reveal his boyfriend. Also dressed up in a suit, Craig made his heart race and his eye widen. He looked _good_. However, one look at his annoyed expression and the blue winter hat that he refused to remove told Clyde that he was hating every second of this.

“Damn, Craig,” Clyde cooed with a smirk. “You look hot as fuck.”

“I look fucking stupid in this monkey suit.” He shot back immediately. Putting aside his discomfort for a moment, he scanned his hazel eyes along Clyde’s body. The white, button-down shirt hugged his thin but fit torso exquisitely, his nice, long legs favored by the black slacks. “You, on the other hand, look amazing.”

“I know, right?” Clyde smirked, facing the mirror again posing.

Craig rolled his eyes and smiled, taking steps towards his boyfriend and wrapping his arms around his waist from behind. “I’m glad you agree.” Craig mumbled against him before pressing a lingering kiss to his earlobe.

Clyde shut his eyes and sighed happily, resting his arms over Craig’s. “Mmm. And I think you’d agree that you also look amazing if you took that damn hat off.”

“I’ve told you this before; you date me, you date the hat. We’re a package deal.”

Clyde smirked mischievously, pushing Craig’s arms away and quickly turning to snatch the age-worn winter hat. He revealed a thick, disheveled fringe of black hair and an irritated Craig. “See! You look adorable!”

Craig exhaled. “Clyde, give me a hat.”

“C’mon, you can survive one night without it.”

“No, I can’t, my hair is stupid. Give it back,” Craig demanded, grabbing for the hat, but the shorter boy was too swift.

Clyde smirked, keeping the cap behind his back. “Not until prom is over.”

“This isn’t a negotiation, give me my hat.” Craig growled, throwing his arms around Clyde’s waist again in attempts of retrieving it.

“Babe, please, one day without this thing,” Clyde requested with a pouted lip. He used his free hand to push his fingers through Craig’s soft hair “You seriously look super hot. And I won’t suck your dick if you wear it.”

Craig narrowed his eyes. “Don’t _threaten_ me.”

“Don’t wear the hat!”

“Fine,” Craig groaned. “Only ‘cause I know you won’t stop bitching about it. You’d suck my dick anyways.”

“No I wouldn’t.” Clyde assured him, trying to keep a straight face. Craig quirked an eyebrow at him. “Okay, I totally would.”

“Damn straight.” Craig said as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s soft lips.

Clyde shut his eyes and returned the gesture, and as their lips slide along one another’s, he placed Craig’s hat on his head and began smiling into the kiss. Craig reeled back to figure out what he was up to and smirked to himself. “See? The hat maketh the man.”

Clyde glanced at himself in the mirror, chuckling, “I _do_ make it work.”

Craig laughed softly, heart swelling with adoration for this wonderful boy standing in front of him, making facing into the mirror like an idiot. “I’m so proud of you.”

“For?” Clyde questioned at the random declaration.

“For how far you’ve come. I love seeing you smile like this.” Craig extrapolated.

“You can take most of the credit for my smile.” Clyde assured him and planted another chaste kiss to his mouth. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Craig promised for the thousandth time.

After another short make-out session Clyde withdrew from Craig’s presence and pulled the hat off his head. “Now I must go fix my hair again.”

“Seriously?” Craig groaned. “We’re going to be late.”

“I’ll be two minutes!” Clyde argued on his way to the bathroom.

Of course, he took twenty and they had to deal with a pissed off Token and frantic Tweek who were both unhappy about being late. Craig blamed it on Clyde’s pampering, but couldn’t pretend to be unhappy about his vain tendencies. He was so happy that was starting to see what Craig saw in him.

What Clyde had experienced was beyond horrible, but much like the survivors he spent hours listening express their coping strategies and newfound appreciation for life, he felt that each day was an unexpected gift. He felt even more so this way as he watched his handsome boyfriend joke and argue with their two friends in the front seat, confidence emanating from him even without his beloved hat and in that monkey suit. Clyde chose to believe it was because of their hands entwined, fingers laced together.

Overcome with joy at the prospect of reaching senior prom, Clyde lunged at Craig, catching him by surprise in a passionate kiss. Craig shut his eyes and instinctively returned with equal adoration detectable in he way he held him close.

“Agh, c’mon, guys! We can still see you!” Tweek grumbled, looking out the window and away from his friends making out in the back seat.

Token let out a sigh a after a few minutes passed and Tweek’s request was acknowledged with nothing but Craig’s middle finger. Feeling scrutinized, Clyde withdrew from the kiss and whispered, “Is it bad I want to skip prom and make out with you?”

“Not at all. But we can also make out at prom.” Craig responded, the slight chuckle that fell from his mouth causing another surge of desire burn in Clyde’s chest.

He leaned back and nodded, “True. You’re so good at reminding me where we can make out, babe.”

The night was indeed spent making out and hanging out with their peers, laughing, joking, dancing, and making plans to ditch supervised after-prom back at the high school and go to Stan Marsh’s massive party at his father’s marijuana farm outside of town. His boyfriend, Kenny, had been running around advertising the shebang. While looking forward to the after-party, Clyde would have been perfectly content slow dancing with Craig for the rest of the night, arms wraps around his waist, full attention set on those enticing, dark-lash rimmed hazel eyes, the brown color prominent in the poor lighting of the banquet hall. “I love you so much.”

“I love you more.” Craig gushed, allowing himself to grin widely at his boyfriend.

Clyde smashed their lips together before leaning his head against Craig’s chest, swaying back and forth the soothing, slow swell of music emitting from the speakers, enjoying a night he was not always sure would come for him.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! (:


End file.
